It’s a feeling like nothing else. It’s like being six years old again and not believing that what just happened happened. Or like as a teenager one slips and falls around lots and lots of people and the laughs, stares, embarrassment, and that feeling all swerve and swirl in the part of the stomach that butterflies appear in. Now older the feeling is less there and instead of trying to make it disappear I cherish it. Experiencing the feeling makes me feel part of humanity–folly after folly we go on, without feeling we are not alive, How can one experience pleasure without these ocassional feelings of psycological pain. I thank the feeling for clearly reminding me of my initiation to evolving yet reminisingly contemporary existence. What caused this? Working on a project for hours early on New Years’s Eve 2009 only to lose it completely to the unsaved space were software shut-downs take things. Thank you short term memory glitch. I am still alive after another three-hundred, sixty-five. I can welcome day one happily, red carpet smoothly placed on the runway.

About once a month the overfill from the big gray can with the black circulatory arrows scatters onto the concrete-speckled asphalt. A bit later, brown glass and green glass are separated from the clear–milk gallon plastic and empty liter bottles are thrown into different bins, aluminum is smashed into tiny wheels, and then lots and lots of these (See tri-pix below).

Watching the old homeless woman as she methodically organizes her cache I remember all the other times I have dropped off glass, cans, and plastic. How many other homeless people did I not see?